A Vision of the Past
by Tim Kelby
Summary: Part One of "The Way of the Force." As the Yuuzhan Vong rampage across the Galaxy destroying all in their path, two young Jedi are despatched to a backwater planet in the Outer Rim. Little do they know that they are about to discover a way to end the Vong


The Way of the Force - Part One - "A Vision of the Past" 

**THE WAY OF THE FORCE**   
**Part One: A Vision of the Past**

**Rating: **G   
**Category: **Action   
**Spoilers:** The New Jedi Order - up to "Edge of Victory I: Conflict"   
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and the New Jedi Order are © LucasFilm Limited, but all characters featured in this work are © Tim Kelby. 

The rain beat down, transforming the lush plains into one vast mire, and turning the rough track into a river of mud. The intermittent flashes of lightning that broke the blue-black, cloud-filled sky were accompanied by rumbles of thunder like the enraged roars of some monstrous beast, and the wind howled and whipped through the tall grass like a Cyborrean dervish. The fury of the storm battered the ground ceaselessly.   
On the plain, a tiny figure fought against the might of the maelstrom. The gale blew his coarse, brown, flowing cloak out behind him like the sail of a primitive windjammer, and tore the hood from his head time and again, but he struggled on. When he reached the lee of a rock outcrop, he paused for breath, throwing the cowl of his robe back to reveal a youthful, pale-skinned face, with blue, intense eyes. He rested for a moment in the relative shelter of the basalt ridge, breathing heavily and wiping water from his eyes. But his respite was short-lived. A scream from above him chilled his blood, and he reached for the weapon that hung at his hip, only to have it dashed from his grasp as he was thrown sprawling to the muddy ground by a heavy weight on his back. Twisting around, the traveller looked up at his aggressor. All he saw was a black shadow, obsidian-dark against the sullen, bruise-coloured sky. His mysterious assailant raised his weapon above his head, screaming a triumphant battle cry. The sound echoed amid the drumming of the rain, and a flash of lightning illuminated the scene, casting strange shadows on the warrior's battered, mutilated face. The alien's victim gasped, recognising immediately the barbaric, tattooed splendour of a Yuuzhan Vong.   
Bringing his amphistaff down, the alien warrior struck, driving the weapon towards the prostrate figure. The figure rolled to one side, and the flattened blade of the snake-like staff thudded into the earth beside him, tearing a great rent in the fabric of his robe. The figure reached out a hand, and something slithered through the mud towards him, glinting metallically in the brief chiaroscuro flashes of lightning. His outstretched hand closed around it. The Yuuzhan Vong pulled his amphistaff out of the ground with a vicious tug, and at the same time, the metallic object activated. A gleaming, green-white blade hummed into life, the raindrops sizzling and spitting as they hit it. With a snarl, the Yuuzhan Vong stamped down hard on the Jedi's arm, eliciting a gasp of pain as the alien's foot drove his wrist into the mud. The Vong warrior raised the amphistaff once again, and its flattened head split down the centre like a mouth. Another flash of lightning glinted off the staff's needle-like fangs, venom dripping from the maw of the snake-like weapon onto the rain-soaked ground below. With frightening speed, the staff struck, arcing its head down in a graceful, deadly motion. But the Jedi was faster. A stone shot up from the ground, catching the staff's snakelike head. The weapon hissed, drawing back in pain, and the Yuuzhan Vong was distracted for a moment. The Jedi struck back. Drawing his leg up, he delivered a powerful kick to the alien warrior's pelvis. As the blow knocked his adversary off balance, freeing his hand, he rolled to one side. Lightsabre held in a diagonal block, he pushed himself up onto one elbow just in time to catch a blow from the amphistaff on his blade. He anticipated the next attack, and his emerald weapon flashed out, turning the stroke aside and slicing into the Yuuzhan Vong's outstretched arm. The alien warrior screamed in agony. The lightning illuminated a face contorted into a hideous expression, half pain, half ecstasy, as his hand, still clutching the amphistaff, dropped to the muddy ground. Like another lightning bolt, the Jedi struck again, thrusting upwards, his lightsabre plunging into a cavity just above the Vong's left breast. The alien warrior shuddered and fell, his body collapsing into the mire.   
Pulling himself to his feet slowly, the Jedi wiped some of the mud from his face. His blond hair was dishevelled and caked with mud, and a slight seep of blood described a darker stain on his forehead. He was breathing hard, his lightsabre still clutched in one hand. A hissing sound from somewhere below drew his attention, and he leaped back. The amphistaff lay in the mud at his feet, writhing and twisting, its mouth gaping wide like the jaws of some hellish mantrap. Calmly, the young Jedi thrust his lightsabre into the wide maw, and the amphistaff collapsed back into the mire, no longer writhing. With a hiss, the lightsabre blade vanished, and the Jedi tucked the metal hilt back into his belt. Pulling his roughly-woven hood up over his head, he set off across the muddy plain, towards the warm glow of lights that sat, half-forgotten, on the horizon. 

The warm, welcoming glow of lights was the tiny settlement of New Haven. Not even large enough to warrant being called a colony, the planet of New Haven, like its capital of the same name, was a backwater - a single warm light in an ocean of cold, unclaimed stars. Situated on the edge of the Outer Rim, the entire system had no more than 2 000 inhabitants, and most of those had lived on New Haven almost all their lives. They were the remnants of an older colony, an agricultural combine established by the Beltaan Corporation of Agamar over 50 standard years ago. When Beltaan had gone bankrupt, the New Haven combine had been almost abandoned, but a few people still lived and worked there, eking out a meagre existence on the very edge of the Galaxy.   
The rain began to subside, and deep, midnight-blue gaps speckled with stars began to appear in the sullen clouds. The young Jedi strode down the main street of New Haven, a rain-soaked, muddy road just wide enough for a small cart, and lined with row upon row of dull, drab, monotonous, prefabricated housing. He stopped at the door to one of these houses and rapped on it, hard. The door slid open with a pained hiss, and the young man stepped through, out of the downpour. Inside the house, it was warm, and the Jedi stood for a moment, enjoying the warmth as the rainwater dripped from his robes and pooled at his feet. A red heat-element glowed on one wall, but there was little else to see in the feeble light of the hut's single glowlamp. There was a small door opposite the entrance through which he had come, and three chairs that faced each other near the heater, over a small metal table. In one of these chairs sat a Twi'Lek, clad in coarse robes similar to those of the other Jedi, her cowl thrown back to allow her fleshy, tattoo-girded lekku to hang over the back of her seat. In the other, an elderly human man rested, his callused hands and brown skin speaking of a life of manual labour. The latter gestured for the other Jedi to sit, and the younger human did so, pulling back his own hood to reveal a grim expression.   
"Joran, you're troubled," the Twi'Lek said, quietly. "Did you find nothing?" Joran shook his head, sending a shower of raindrops scattering from his blond hair.   
"I wish I _had_ found nothing, Lystra," he answered, darkly.   
"Meaning what?" the room's third occupant demanded, his Agamarian drawl contrasting sharply with Joran's calm, accentless voice.   
"I found nothing at the crypt," Joran explained, fixing the other with an intense stare, "but on the way back to New Haven I stumbled on a Yuuzhan Vong warrior." The older human gasped, his skin paling with shock underneath his tan. Lystra looked surprised for a moment, then regained a measure of Jedi calm.   
"The Yuuzhan Vong? Here?" Joran nodded, gravely. News didn't travel very fast in the Outer Rim - some people on New Haven probably still thought the New Republic was at war with the Empire - but rumours of the Yuuzhan Vong's terrible assault had evidently been heard even here. The Twi'Lek shook her head, grimly.   
"If the Vong have decided to conquer New Haven..."   
"I only saw one of them," Joran reassured the other Jedi, his voice calm. "That may mean nothing, but on the other hand..." He paused, speculatively. "It may be that our alien warrior merely crashed his coralskipper."   
"I hope you're right..." the older man replied, his response punctuated by a long yawn. "Well, I need to get my sleep. I'll have to be up early in the morning to repair the storm damage." He stood, slowly, and made his way to the door in the wall opposite Joran. He stepped through the door, which slid closed behind him.   
"Goodnight, Josef," Joran called after him. His expression soured slightly, worry and guilt impinging on his calm Jedi façade. Luckily, the rumours about the way the Yuuzhan Vong treated their dead had not yet reached New Haven. The alien warriors were thought to consider their remains to be sacred. If what he had heard were true, they might be coming looking for their fallen comrade, and they would probably not be happy to learn that his body was lying in a muddy puddle on the Kandegard Plains. From Lystra's worried expression, it was clear that she was thinking the same thing.   
"Joran, if there are other Yuuzhan Vong on this planet, we _must_ warn someone," she said, a tinge of urgency leaching into her composed mien. The other Jedi nodded, slowly.   
"But we don't know whether there are or not," he replied, exasperatedly. "New Haven doesn't even have a proper spaceport, let alone a planetary sensor grid."   
"We're Jedi - why would we need sensor grids?" she asked, a slight smile on her face. Joran sighed.   
"If Master Skywalker can't sense the Yuuzhan Vong..."   
"We can at least _try_," the other insisted. Without another word, she closed her eyes. She began to breathe deeply, slowly, fingering the carved wooden meditation pendant she always wore around her neck. Joran shook his head.   
"It's no use arguing with you, is it?" he complained, without rancour.   
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind. All his doubts, all his worries, were forgotten, washed away on the tide of life that was the Force. He reached out, searching, seeking the greater aspect of the Force - the Galaxy-spanning web of intertwining destinies and energies that some ancient Jedi texts referred to as the Cosmic Force. Easing deeper into the ebb and flow of life around him, he sensed the beings of New Haven. Reaching out further he tried to find any traces of the Yuuzhan Vong. But, as he had told Lystra, it was a futile task, and he knew it. The Yuuzhan Vong seemed to be somehow distant from the Force - not even a part of it, but separate. Trying to find one on an inhabited planet, even one as sparsely populated as New Haven, would be like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack. No, Joran reflected, it was worse. It wasn't a _needle_ he was trying to find, but a _hole_ - a place in the haystack where there was no hay - and that was not difficult. It was nigh on impossible.   
Instead, he concentrated his attention elsewhere, focusing on his true task here on New Haven. In an obscure manuscript somewhere, a young Jedi student had found a reference to a place where a Jedi Master and his pupil had sheltered from the wrath of the Empire. The crypt on New Haven had been home to Jedi Master Charas Baranthor and his Padawan apprentice, Da'aran Chun, for the duration of the purge, and Master Skywalker, citing the need for ancient wisdom in these dark times, had despatched Lystra and him to the settlement of New Haven to discover whether any Jedi relics had survived.   
_So instead of protecting people from the Yuuzhan Vong_, Joran reflected bitterly, _Lystra and I are searching some backwater planet for a Jedi crypt that may no longer even exist. I thought the Jedi were supposed to be the guardians of peace and order, not... not... archaeologists! Perhaps Master Skywalker doesn't trust me on the battlefield. _While Joran had never supported the aggressive stance taken by Jedi such as Kyp Durron or Wurth Skidder, he preferred action over contemplation. To be sent on such a mission while the Galaxy was engulfed by a terrible conflict - a tide of darkness that could extinguish the light of the Jedi forever - seemed more like a punishment than an assignment.   
His resentful train of thought was interrupted by a half-heard whisper. Immediately, Joran recognised the subtle presence of another Jedi. Quieting his thoughts, he opened his mind to the sensations that stirred the Force, like ripples in an immense ocean of life. A faint susurration hovered at the edges of his consciousness, a quiet murmur like the sound of voices. He strained to hear what they were saying, but the more he reached out, the further away the voices seemed to be. They seemed to echo in the shadows, just out of hearing. Joran strained more, listening intently to the rhythmic sound... abruptly, it was as though the whispering had become a roar, as if the ocean was crashing onto the beachhead of his mind. Joran strained harder, listening to the voices, trying desperately to pick out a single conversation, a single thread in the complex, interwoven tapestry of sound.   
Suddenly, like a pattern emerging from a seemingly random jumble of intermingled words, one voice rang out, clear as a crystal bell. It was chanting something... a repetitive, rhythmic mantra, over and over. The words were alien, incomprehensible, little more than a string of inchoate sounds, barely articulated. But the cadence was unmistakable. It pounded and throbbed like a heartbeat, pulsing with the rhythm of life, like an echo of the Force itself.   
Images flashed before Joran's closed eyes. A palace reached, splendid and magnificent, towards the stars, half smooth and organic, half ordered and angular, a citadel of soaring towers and gently-curved balustrades, and of high mezzanines arching over immense courtyards. A huge, bloated red sun hung like a monstrous carbuncle in a star-strewn, iron-coloured sky. An ageing man, his long silver beard flowing over a wine-green robe, gazed up into the heavens. An alien face, twisted with rage and anger, loomed out of the shadows.   
Faster and faster the visions came, and not just images now, but sounds and scents as well. A white tower rearing against an ebon sky; the hiss and whine of blaster-fire; a Stormtrooper's bone-white, implacable visage; the smell of burning; a strange, organic-looking starship... then, abruptly, a flash of white light washed away the images, leaving nothing behind but a blank emptiness.   
A surge of surprise jolted Lystra from her reflection, and her eyes snapped open... just in time to see Joran slump, unconscious, to the ground. 

_Darkness. Darkness reigns here, an unending, unyielding ebon eternity without end or beginning _(what's happening to me?)_. Then light - a brief flash of pure white, cleansing the vision and purifying the mind. The light begins to fade..._   
_Darkness. Darkness reigns here, too. Pure, utter blackness stretches on forever, broken only by the cold, wan glow of a distant halo of light. There are no stars out here _(where is 'here'?)_, only an eternal emptiness, an infinity of black. But the distant light shines like a beacon, beckoning. That faint glow is our destination - a far-off Galaxy where at last, perhaps, we may find freedom _(freedom from what?)_. This tiny luminescence is like a light of hope - surrounded by the blackness of despair, but not swallowed by it. Our destiny lies among those far-off stars _(_whose_ destiny?)_. Whether a destiny of life, or of death, we shall not discover for a millennium _(why?)_, though this immense trek through the shadows will seem like a mere flicker in the ocean of life_. _We are the last hope; the final gasp; the sacrifice that brings life bursting anew from the ashes _(who is - _who_ is the last hope?). _We are the forgotten, the overlooked, the insect fleeing the crushing grasp of the giant. We must survive. We must survive..._   
_Darkness._

Joran lay, face-up, on a hard mattress covered by grimy sheets. His normally pale skin had turned a sallow, ashen hue, but his expression was peaceful, and but for two things, Lystra could have almost believed he was sleeping.   
The first was his eyes, which stared ahead, glazed and unseeing. The second thing, she sensed through the Force. Joran was... _gone_. Not dead, for his body still breathed, slowly and deeply, and he would eat, if food were put to his lips, and drink if he were given water. But he seemed somehow... vacant, as though his life-essence had been sucked from him. When she reached out for him in the Force, she felt none of the vibrancy that usually emanated from him - from him, perhaps, more than from many other Jedi - or even the flicker of energy she normally felt from other living beings. It was as if Joran's mind were somewhere else, while his body still rested here, on a dirty, uncomfortable pallet in a dingy hovel in New Haven. Lystra longed to know where that other place was.   
A surge of emotion from behind her - concern, tinged with fear - made her turn, to see Josef enter the tiny room. He held a clay bowl of stew in one hand, and a tin mug of water in the other. He held them out to Lystra, silently, and backed away. Without a word, he closed the door behind him, and the Jedi felt a surge of relief from the elderly man as he retreated. _As a non-Jedi, I suppose it's hard for him to understand, _Lystra reflected, spooning the steaming stew into Joran's half-open mouth. _To Josef, Joran can either be alive or dead, not... in between. _She sighed, and half-way through, turned her expression of anxiety into a Jedi breathing exercise, holding the exhalation until all the air had flowed from her lungs, and taking a deep, cleansing breath. As she exhaled again, her troubles seemed to flow out like the air. Her nervousness about the Yuuzhan Vong; her concern for Joran; her frustration at their fruitless search for ancient wisdom; all seemed to melt into nothing as she opened herself to the flow of the Force.   
Suddenly, she sensed something, tugging at the edges of her consciousness. Quieting her mind, she listened intently, but it was gone now. Only silence remained. Then, just as she was about to give up, she sensed it again. It was closer now, and more distinct, but she still could not identify it. It was profoundly alien, unlike anything she had ever sensed before, but its veins, if it had any, still flowed with the lifeblood of the Force. As abruptly as it has appeared, however, it vanished again. For a long time afterwards, Lystra was left wondering what it was that she had sensed, and that wondering was underscored by a tinge of unease. What was the alien presence? Was it connected to Joran's... condition? Or was it, as she suspected with apprehension, connected to the Yuuzhan Vong? 

_Darkness again, and then a pulse of white light. The light fades..._   
_Revealing the glimmer of silver stardust, scattered on the blackness of the night. A world gleams in the darkness below _(what world - what planet, what star system?)_; vibrant greens and earthy browns interspersed with azure seas and swirled with a tapestry of cloud-patterns. This will be our new home _(whose new home?)_, this verdant, pristine gem hanging in the emptiness. It is perfect for our needs _(what needs?)_; secluded, out at the edge of this Galaxy; devoid of civilisation; vigorous and full of life. This perfect orb will be our refuge; our shelter; our sanctuary _(_whose_ sanctuary? Who are you?)_. This place will be our home. _(Who are you? Who _are_ you? Who...)   
_Darkness._

* * * *

_Three days_, thought Lystra, with a sense of growing apprehension that even her Jedi talents could not suppress. _He's been unconscious for three days, and still I'm no closer to finding out what's wrong._ Absently, she turned her meditation pendant over and over in her fingers, the feel of the smooth wood soothing her almost frantic thoughts. Distracted by her fears, she didn't sense Josef's approach until he stepped into the little room beside her. Turning to face him, she saw a disturbed, perplexed expression on his face, and felt the annoyance that radiated from him.   
"What's wrong?" she inquired, doing her best to keep her voice calm and level.   
"Some frankin' vandals have trashed my agrodroids," he complained. "Every single one of 'em. Smashed beyond repair." Lystra struggled to keep her sudden terror from showing. By a supreme effort of Jedi control she managed a sympathetic,   
"Vandals!" Josef nodded, his expression sour but not fearful. _He doesn't know,_ Lystra realised, abruptly. _He doesn't know what the Yuuzhan Vong do to technology._   
"I'm gonna have to go all the way to Valleyhead for a new batch, now," he went on. "I'll probably be away a few days..."   
"That's OK - that's fine," Lystra assured him, quickly. He left, still muttering about vandalism, and Lystra slumped into the chair. _There must be more Yuuzhan Vong here,_ she thought, with a deadly certainty. _Only the Vong have such a terrible hatred of technology. But why would they only destroy a few droids, when they could easily have destroyed every agrobot in New Haven?_ Her apprehension increased another notch. This mission was getting worse and worse every moment. With Joran alongside her, the young Twi'Leki Jedi would have been more certain of defeating a Vong warrior, but her own sabre skills were mediocre compared to those of her unconscious companion. Her proficiencies centred more on the area of empathy and healing, not battle. _Please Joran, _she begged him, silently, _wake up. Wake up..._

_Darkness again, and then a pulse of white light. The light fades..._   
_Revealing lush, emerald-green pastures, broken by a scattering of trees. A small, glass-smooth lake reflects the cyan sky, and the warm, golden sunlight. This place is idyllic - a secluded paradise at the edge of the Galaxy, concealed from prying eyes... or so we thought_ (who - _who_ thought?)_. But we are not alone after all. Dark shapes descend from the sky - metal shapes, full of beings. They are strange beings to us - bipedal, like we are, but pale of skin, attired in strange clothes and bearing strange implements the like of which we have never seen before _(Humans - they're Humans! Human - the same species as me)_. We have observed these creatures from our seclusion, and we have discovered them to be peace loving - farmers and the like, workers of the soil. They pose no threat to us _(to _who_?)_, as long as we remain hidden. They are intruders, interlopers, strangers... but they will do us no harm. At least they are not servants of the Yuuzhan Vong_ (the Yuuzhan Vong? You know of the Yuuzhan Vong? How do you know of them? Who are you? What's happening to me - am I going insane, demanding answers from beings I cannot see, who only exist inside my head? What's happening to me? What's happening...)   
_Darkness._

Lystra lay on the floor under a thin blanket, and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. She couldn't get the thoughts of the Yuuzhan Vong out of her mind. What little, fitful sleep she had managed to get had been punctuated by disquieting dreams about mysterious warriors; strange, organic-looking cities; and alien vessels plying the endless blackness of intergalactic space. She lay on her back, and stared up at the wood-panelled ceiling. Her mind raced, contemplating the terrible situation she had somehow found herself in. Picking up her meditation pendant, she turned it over and over in her hands, but she found no sense of security in that familiar movement, and as much as she tried, she could not push her fears aside and draw on the Force.   
Suddenly, her danger sense flared. Terrible knowledge seared into her mind - _the Vong are attacking!_ Leaping to her feet, she pulled on her Jedi robes and grabbed for her lightsabre. Terror assailed her, but she resisted the temptation to succumb to its cold embrace. Instead, she slipped into the main living area of the hovel, her lightsabre held at the ready, but not activated. As she did so, she heard a terrible crashing sound as something smashed into the hut's metal door.   
The door buckled at the first thunderous blow, crumpling into a bas-relief of tortured metal. The second blow sent it crashing to the floor. There, framed against the moonlight, loomed the cadaverous, terrifying silhouette of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior. In one hand, he held a jet-black, snake-like amphistaff. His other was clenched into a fist, and Lystra could see from the awkward way he held it that it was this that he had used to batter down the door. In a split second, she had ignited her sabre. She took a deep breath. _For a Jedi, there is no fear_, she told herself. Banishing her terror, she stood her ground, drawing on the Force, and holding the sabre in a high guard position. The weapon's cobalt blade cast an eerie light on the twisted, mutilated features of the armoured alien, turning him into a cyanotic nightmare. Opening his mouth, he gave voice to a chilling, guttural warcry.   
"_Do-ro'ik vong pratte!_" Levelling his amphistaff, he charged. At the last moment, he sidestepped deftly, swinging the staff, but Lystra's Jedi reflexes were equal to his swift onslaught. Ducking under the slashing blow, she sliced upwards with her sabre. The Vong leaped back as the blade sparked off his armour. Lightning-fast and deadly, he attacked again. Driving his own weapon down, he drew back as his opponent tried to parry. Taunting, he feinted again, drawing Lystra's blade outwards. Like a striking snake, the Vong lashed out. The young Jedi beat his attack aside, only to see him change direction at the last minute, the amphistaff's head swinging away, whip-like, from the sabre blade. Lithe and agile, it twisted around her weapon. There was a sharp _crack_, and pain shot through Lystra's knuckles where the staff's head had struck her. The snake-like weapon snapped back to rigidity. Distant thunder rumbled, and the lightning threw actinic brilliance over the tattooed aggressor's twisted, feral grin. His eyes glittered in the glow of the sabre.   
Abruptly, he struck out again. The amphistaff hissed - Lystra's blade came out to parry it - the staff curved away. The weapon's head swayed from side to side. Lystra feinted - the staff backed away, making the mistake of turning its attention away from the young Jedi for a moment. She gave a flick of the blade, intending to cleave the staff in two... and was sent reeling by a sharp blow. Pain exploded inside her head as she staggered back. Something caught her leg - looking down, she saw the amphistaff curled around her ankle. She panicked. Losing her grip on the Force, and on her sabre, she collapsed to the ground. The staff slithered up her body, towards her chest. She felt a shudder of revulsion course through her at its cold touch. Cursing, she berated herself silently as the Yuuzhan Vong stalked over to where she lay, prone. _I was concentrating so much on his weapon, _she rebuked herself, _I forgot about the warrior wielding it_. The amphistaff had reached her belly now, and it reared up. Time seemed to slow. The Vong loomed over her in the blackness. The amphistaff's maw opened wide, venom dripping from its ivory-hued fangs, poised to strike. _Joran!_ she cried, silently, in desperation. _Help me!_

_Darkness again, and then a pulse of white light. The light fades..._   
_And a terrible vision reveals itself _(is it a vision? Did this really happen?)_. The scene is a clearing in a forest. Bodies lie sprawled in the mud, as the rain beats down relentlessly, the blood turning the water an ugly black. A few human bodies are present, twisted into grotesque postures of death, but the majority of the cadavers are alien. Their deep green, leathery skin blends in with the grasses and ferns that surround the carnage. _(Who are these people? Who killed them?)_. Abruptly, a dark figure strides into the clearing - a Yuuzhan Vong warrior, in all his tattooed, barbaric splendour _(the Vong again! Is that who these people were fleeing from?)_. He surveys the destruction for a moment, with an expression of what seems like satisfaction on his face.   
Another pulse of light obscures the scene for a moment...   
Another Yuuzhan Vong looms in the darkness, amphistaff raised high.   
Another flash of light, and the clearing returns.   
Another flash - the second scene again, but illuminated by a flash of lightning._(Lystra! That's Lystra!)_. The staff's snake-like head is poised to strike.   
Flash - the clearing and the bodies.   
Flash - Lystra again.   
Flash - the clearing. This is how we died _(Who died? Who...)_.   
Flash - Lystra _(I have to help her...)_.   
Flash - the clearing. We cannot allow you to die also.   
Flash - Lystra again, but this time the image is clearer. _Joran!_ she cries, silently, her connection to the strength of the Force severed by her fear and pain. _Help me! 

Joran sat bolt upright. The detached, confused lassitude of the dream - _had it been a dream?_ - was gone now, replaced by a sudden urgency. Glancing around, he took stock of his situation. He was sitting on a small bed, in a darkened room. From somewhere nearby, he sensed Lystra's fear. Swinging himself out of the mattress, he grabbed his lightsabre. He knew what he had to do. 

The amphistaff raised its head, preparing to strike. Lystra tensed, preparing to make one last frantic bid for freedom... when something stuck the snake-like creature hard on the back of the head. The ebon-hued weapon slumped to the ground. Its Yuuzhan Vong master spun around, and Lystra saw a flare of green-white light, heard the distinctive _snap-hiss_ of a lightsabre. She scrambled to her feet, to see Joran's emerald blade batter aside the enraged Vong's roundhouse kick, and slice through the alien warrior. The dead Vong collapsed with a meaty thud and an oozing of dark blood. With a flick of his thumb, Joran deactivated his weapon.   
Surprise and delight battled for supremacy in Lystra's mind for a moment, before the latter got the upper hand. Rushing over to him, she embraced him, and he smiled with equal relief. Taking a deep breath she reached out for the cleansing energy of the Force, but she had no desire to suppress the jubilation she felt.   
"Are there more of them?" he demanded, quickly. Lystra fell silent, quieting her emotions for an instant. She sensed no fear, no pain.   
"I don't think so," she answered. "Joran, what... what happened to you?" At this, the human Jedi's expression clouded. Seriously, he gazed at her.   
"It's a long story," he replied, finally. "I still don't understand it myself." Sensing that something had disturbed him, Lystra nodded. With one hand, she fingered her meditation pendant.   
"Tell me," she said, quietly. 

It was a long time before Joran managed to give a coherent account of what he had seen, and even then, the shroud of mystery remained just as deep. However, there was one thing he was certain of.   
"I have to find out what those visions meant," he concluded. "And the only way I can do that is to go back to the crypt."   
"Why the crypt?" Lystra asked, her usually placid demeanour overlaid by fear and apprehension. "What makes you think you could find answers where you found nothing before?"   
"I just know that's where I have to be," he answered, simply, with calm certainty.   
"But _how_ do you know?"   
"I just _know_," Joran told her, emphatically. There was a pause, and he fixed the other Jedi with an intense stare. "I've never been so certain of anything before. I know now what the ancient texts meant when they spoke of 'the Will of the Force.' It's like every part, every cell, every fibre of me _knows_ what I have to do. I _have_ to find out who it was I saw in those visions." Sensing his resolve, Lystra shook her head.   
"You mean _we_ have to figure this out," she replied. Joran grinned.   
"That's what I meant." Lystra smiled, doubtfully but with warmth. The two Jedi fell silent for a moment. Lystra began to finger her meditation pendant, passing it between the fingers of one hand and staring off into the distance, a reflective expression on her face. Joran closed his eyes, drawing on the Force to revitalise him, to return the energy that he had expended defeating the Yuuzhan Vong warrior. Reaching out with his emotions, as he had been taught, he immersed himself in the ocean of life, drawing on it for strength, allowing its endless vitality to seep into his blood. Slowly, he felt his fatigue easing. _It's at times like this,_ he reflected, wryly, _I wish I had as strong a connection with the Living Force as Lystra has._ And with that thought, he slipped gratefully into a peaceful sleep, soothed by the life-giving touch of the Force. 

The door to the crypt yawned like a black maw. Set into the natural rock and bordered on all four sides by carved stone, what little light penetrated the thick canopy overhead could not pierce the shadowed doorway. The forest was filled with the sounds of insects, birds, and the steady _drip-drip-drip_ of the rain on the leaves above. After the storms, everything was shrouded in tendrils of clammy mist, verdant green cloaked in ephemeral grey. As Lystra gazed around her, she could sense the hum and buzz of life everywhere. Everything gleamed with crystal dewdrops. Somewhere, hidden from sight in that vibrant emerald tapestry, a filigree bird piped its repetitive song. Insects chirped, and the vines swayed and rustled as a dark-furred anderdrin scuttled through the branches, a splash of black against the lucent green.   
"Lystra." Joran's voice broke in on her silent contemplation. His voice sounded odd - detached and almost dreamlike. As she turned to face him, she found that he had already disappeared into the gloom of the crypt. Hurrying after him, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye, heard a rustle of leaves. She turned quickly, but all she saw was an iridescent blue-green reptile slithering away into the cool, murky shadows. Its passage carved a sinuous line in the thick, wet carpet of leaf-mould that covered the forest floor, brushed aside a fallen leaf. Lystra was about to turn and follow, when she noticed a splash of pale colour against the emerald foliage. Bending down, she brushed away the tangle of ferns that surrounded it, scraping rotted leaves and fungi off the ivory-coloured dome. She unearthed it with a tug, and looked at it for a moment. To all appearances, it seemed to be a rounded stone or pebble, but from its weight and its irregular shape, Lystra could tell that that was not what it was. She turned it over.   
For a moment, her Jedi calm left her. She dropped the object, and it was all she could do to keep from letting out a scream of terror, for as she stared at the thing she held in her hands, it stared back. 

Inside the crypt, Joran saw nothing. Shadows surrounded him, a claustrophobic nightmare of blackness, and rachnid webs brushed his face like the caress of a desiccated corpse, but he ignored them. All he could hear was the sound of his footsteps, muffled by the thick carpet of dust that swirled and churned as he walked. Yet despite the darkness, his every step was sure. He avoided every loose slab, every crack in the ancient stone beneath his feet. He made no wrong turns, and wasted no time glancing at the intricate carvings that cluttered the walls of the passageway. He felt a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him, and a presence in his mind, alien but strangely familiar, urging him on.   
When he reached the central catacomb, he hesitated for the first time. The image in his mind was of a long chamber with a high, vaulted roof, walls lined with squat, squarish columns carved with angular sigils and arcane runes. What he saw was quite different. Halfway down the room, the floor came to an abrupt halt. A jagged edge marked the boundary between slate-grey paving slabs and black emptiness. Only a few metres beyond that, a colossal pile of rubble and earth, draped with vines and hung with stringy green fungi, filled the chamber. _There must have been a cave-in since..._ here, Joran's thoughts faltered. _Since when?_ For the first time since his vision, the young Jedi felt uncertain, confused. _Where do these images come from?_ Unanswered questions assailed him, but one certainty remained, one bastion of conviction that withstood all the raging doubts. _I must go deeper - deeper into the crypt. _Clambering over a fallen pillar, Joran scrambled up onto the rubble heap and began to descend. 

Hollow sockets gazed into Lystra's own wide eyes, as the Twi'Leki Jedi stared at the fleshless rictus grin of an alien skull. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she took a deep breath, drawing on the energy of the Force. The fingers of her free hand turned her meditation pendant over and over, its smooth, familiar shape calming her. Her irrational shock receded, replaced by curiosity, and she took a closer look at what she had found, studying it. The head was rounded, with a flattened face bisected by a pair of bony ridges that ran from the jawline to the nose. Somehow, the features seemed familiar, but Lystra couldn't place why. _It's like the memories come from a long time ago, _she thought, perplexed, _or from a dream...a dream!_ Abruptly, she remembered where she had seen this likeness before. _In a dream!_ The image came back to her, clear as the crystal dewdrops - a strange face, green skin surrounding luminous, intelligent golden eyes - an image from a dream. She remembered it now - it had been on the night before Joran had awoken, when the Yuuzhan Vong warrior had attacked. She had dreamed of many strange things that night - of citadels and battles and unfamiliar creatures. A weird feeling crept over her, as though she were a player in an unknown play, speaking unrehearsed lines to the inaudible direction of an unseen script. A prompter seemed to be hiding in her thoughts, guiding her steps. Whatever it was, it had _wanted_ her to find the skull, _wanted_ her to remember her dream - and whatever it was, it felt strange, alien. Suddenly, her musings were interrupted by a rustle of leaves behind her. Turning, she expected to see another animal perched on a branch, or a tiny reptile skittering through the leaves, but she saw nothing. A chill ran down her spine, goosebumps drawing a line of ice down her back, and she had the distinct impression that she was being watched. She dropped the skull, and her hand went to her lightsabre. Drawing the weapon, she stared into the darkness of the forest. The tree-trunks loomed, gnarled and twisted in the shadows, hung with vines and dew-dripping tendrils of moss. The silence no longer seemed tranquil, peaceful - it was suddenly tense, an expectant holding of nature's collective breath. Lystra ignited her sabre.   
"Who's there?" she demanded, pleased to note the calmness of her voice. A pair of shimmering golden eyes stared back at her. She stiffened, falling into a combat stance, her weapon poised in the _en garde_ position. The eyes blinked, once, and then vanished. A moment later, an anderdrin's fur-bearded face poked out of the foliage. Lystra laughed, the sound breaking through the nervousness, washing it away. _I must be getting edgy,_ she thought, extinguishing her sabre and relaxing her tensed muscles. _I'm seeing Yuuzhan Vong warriors everywhere..._   
Behind her, moving with a hunter's silent grace, cold eyes fixed on her twitching lekku, a Yuuzhan Vong warrior slipped through the gloom. His amphistaff curled and twisted in his grip, and his mutilated face was contorted into a mask of savage glee. 

In the chill, dusty air of the crypt, Joran's breath clouded the air with silver steam. As if in a dream, he stood before an immense statue, gazing up at its majestic visage frozen in red-brown stone. The figure was plainly alien, its clawed feet spread wide, its muscular arms lifted towards the heavens, its reptilian head thrown back, hurling a wordless battlecry to the distant skies. Its hands were clenched into fists and its armoured torso rippled with simulated muscles. Below it, on a squared-off plinth, was carved a series of angular glyphs. Placing his hands on the plinth, he touched a series of symbols in quick succession. There was a sound of metal grating on metal. Behind the walls, water poured into an immense tank, moving a counterweight. Wheels turned, ropes wound over pulleys, levers moved as ancient mechanisms ground into action. With an agonising creak and a low rumble, the statue moved. The plinth itself slid ponderously to one side, revealing an opening in the wall behind. Without the slightest hesitation, but feeling a strange sense of anticipation, Joran gathered his cloak around him and plunged into it.   
He found himself walking down a long flight of wide, if uneven stairs. As he gazed into the inky blackness ahead of him, he thought he could discern a faint glow of honey-coloured radiance. As he descended further, it seemed to get brighter, changing from a dim, far-off haze, and growing in strength until eventually it filled the passageway with a golden light. As the glow grew brighter, so the voices in Joran's mind began to get louder. Drawing on the Force, he could block most of them out, but they were becoming stronger and stronger. Soon there was a cacophony of confused words in his head, an incomprehensible barrage of sound that emanated, not from outside of him, but from his own brain. Even so, over all those discordant voices, one voice stood out, driving him onwards, urging him to press on towards... _towards what?_ Joran wondered.   
_Towards the answer,_ the voice replied, cryptically.   
The stairs turned a corner, and the light grew even brighter, blazing around the young Jedi like an aura. A few steps later, the stairway passed through an arched portal and came to an end. When he saw what lay beyond the arch, Joran gasped. The voices in his head clamoured for his attention, but he ignored them, surprise and awe dominating his thoughts. Stretched out before him was a vast underground city.   
The central part of the city consisted of an immense cavern, lit by the golden glow of thousands of pendulous lanterns that hung from every part of the ceiling. On the floor, the empty streets ran here and there in a flowing, organic pattern delineated by colonnades of tapered pillars. On either side of the streets were what Joran took to be buildings - immense curved, domed structures nestled together like fungi, their once-lighted windows dim and lifeless. On all sides of the enormous chamber, passages and tunnels radiated out, and similar tunnels seemed to serve as entrances into the strange structures, although all were black and uninviting. At the centre of the 'city' was a great, wide, open space, dominated by a huge tower with a wide gallery around its crown.   
With a feeling of wonder that surpassed anything he had ever felt before, Joran stepped into the streets of this forgotten metropolis. The dominant voice spoke again.   
_This was our city,_ it said. _This is where we lived... and where we died. _The voice sounded sad, mourning those long gone.   
_Who? _Joran demanded. _Who lived here? Who are you?_   
_Who I was does not matter,_ the voice answered him. _But _we_ are the Theran Hive. _As those enigmatic words echoed in Joran's mind, images rushed into his head. He saw aliens - hundreds upon hundreds of them, swarming through the city in which he now stood. He saw houses and workshops, watched artisans fashioning strange machines and heard priests chanting strange incantations. _This was our city as it was_, the voice went on_. We came here many centuries ago, fleeing the tyranny of the Yuuzhan Vong. We came to your Galaxy in search of a new home, a new future. But we could not escape the long reach of the shadow of the Vong._   
_They tracked you here?_ Understanding was beginning to dawn in Joran's mind - at last he realised the truth behind his vision.   
_The Vong tracked us here and destroyed us all - or so they thought. But the Hive did not withstand a thousand years of Vong oppression just to be crushed and forgotten. We did not fight simply to see our hopes, our dreams, our very civilisation, die around us. In the last desperate hours, as the Yuuzhan Vong warriors smashed the crypt above to pieces, tearing the very stones from the floor in their search for our hidden city, we formed the Final Circle. Every Theran, male and female, young and old, transferred their mind - their thoughts, their memories, their personality - into the memory reservoir below the city. For years, the reservoir core remained dormant, and we waited, biding our time until we could fulfil our task._   
_Task? What task? _Joran interrupted.   
_We swore, _the voice told him, solemnly, _that we would put an end, once and for all, to the monstrous plague that is the Yuuzhan Vong. We vowed that we would drive them from this Galaxy - that the last legacy of our civilisation would be one of peace. _Joran's heart began to pound. The clamour of the voices grew louder.   
_There is a way?_ He dared only whisper it in his mind.   
_Yes,_ the voice answered. _There is a way to defeat the Vong._ Joran nodded. Somehow, from the tone of the voice, and from the memories and images that he could sense flowing into him, he knew that there would be a great price to pay. But if it would end the threat posed by the Yuuzhan Vong, he was willing to pay that price. When he spoke aloud, his words echoed in the empty citadel.   
"Show me." 

Lystra sensed the flash of danger before her other senses registered anything - before she heard the crackle of broken twigs, before she felt the hot breath on the back of her neck. She whirled around, throwing herself to the rain-soaked forest floor. There was a sound like the crack of a whip, and something black whistled over her head. The dark shape of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior loomed over her. Fear filled Lytsra's veins with adrenaline, but she pushed it from her mind. _There is no fear; there is tranquillity_, she reminded herself. The alien's amphistaff darted its blade-like head at her, but drew back in alarm as her lightsabre flared into existence. Lystra lashed out, her ice-hued blade arcing across the alien warrior's line of vision, distracting him. The Twi'Lek's booted foot caught the Vong in one knee. There was a snap of bone and a sickening crunch of cartilage, and the mutilated warrior staggered back. Lystra drew the Force to her, immersing herself in its life-giving flow, feeling it lending her strength. She vaulted to her feet. She lunged; the Yuuzhan Vong parried her attack. The alien warrior counterattacked, but she battered his weapon aside with ease. Amphistaff clashed on sabre, obsidian black against cobalt blue, throwing off gouts of silver-white sparks. The Vong fought with the ferocity of a predator, lunging and thrusting, his attacks getting wilder and wilder as anger began to take control. The battle raged, back and forth. Lystra was barely managing to defend herself now. Her limbs were leaden with fatigue, her connection to the Force barely a thread. A vicious slash caught her off-guard, and the Yuuzhan Vong's amphistaff hissed triumphantly. Dark blood stained its ivory-hued teeth. Lystra was aware of a flash of pain from her wounded side. Her legs suddenly felt weak, and abruptly, she remembered the venom that dripped from the amphistaff's fangs. Blackness rushed up to claim her.   
The Yuuzhan Vong smiled, showing irregular, serrated teeth. _These _jeedai_ fight well,_ he thought, gazing triumphantly at his victim's fallen body. _But they are no match for a servant of Yun-Yammka_. With a contemptuous flick of his foot, he turned the creature over. Disgusted, he stared for a moment at its pristine, undamaged features. _These infidels fear the pain that brings us closer to godhood. _Feeling nothing but scorn now, he placed his foot on the _jeedai_'s throat, and pressed down. As the pressure increased, blood seeped between the alien warrior's toes. He threw his head back, opened his ragged maw, and screamed a victorious cry.   
"_Do-ro'ik vong pratte!_" _And woe to our enemies!_


End file.
